The Advantage of Being Horizontal
by ZizzyO
Summary: Life isn't so bad for a dead trickster. Just a little snippet, where Gabriel gets lucky and non-existent panties drop.
1. Red Hots

An ear-to-ear grin appears, as his eyes pointedly roam across her chest and hips.

"Like what you see, big boy?" She asks, leaning forward and squeezing her shoulders together just enough to really make her cleavage pop.

"Definitely." His index finger twirls at her feet, then his fingers snap. "Red suits you." A pair of red satin panties slither down long legs. They stop, caught on stiletto straps.

"How unusual…" Gracefully untangling her left foot, she swings her left heel backwards and towards her hand. She snags the pair of panties from hip level, then stretches the underwear in front of her-like a giant lingerie rubber band. "… I wasn't wearing underwear." The panties shoot into his lap with a wink.

Clapping hands and laughing, he stalks forward herding her backwards towards the giant raised bed. "You've got style, sweetheart. Shame I have to kill you."

"Oh, the obligatory death threat!" Scarlet fingernails trail down her cleavage and curl around the fleshy globes. "Careful there, If I didn't know better... I might actually think you cared."

"Hmm... Can't have you thinking I've gone soft in my old age." Her knees hit the edge of the bed.

"Death threats are nice and all..." She purrs, hands slowly sliding the clingy fabric off her shoulders. "But, I'd much rather get down to negotiations."

"Before or after we get down, baby?" Vigorous eyebrow wiggles accompany his words.

"During." The thin dress pools in a puddle of garnet at her feet. "There's little I love more than mixing business with pleasure. Feeling up to the challenge?"

"Thought I wasn't tall enough, beansprout?"

"Height only matters when you're vertical." Tanned legs curl on the edge of the bed. She slowly leans backwards, arching her back and letting her arms splay across the sheets. "Lay with me."

He appears beside her, lounging on the bed and glass in hand. "Not exactly what I was expecting when I heard you were back on this half of the globe, tease." He snaps his fingers.

Lights dim, Marvin Gaye starts crooning, and the fireplace roars to life.

"What else were you expecting?"

"Oh, same old, same old. Fight to the death, exploding towns." He twirls the absurd mustache between his fingers.

"You seem plenty prepared." She drawls, then dips a hand into his wine and begins licking the drops off of her fingertips.

"Always, babe." He winks and catches a run-away drop with his lips.

"You know I won't let you hide away in this porno forever." One of her legs slithers around his waist, tugging him closer.

"Why not?" He smirks. "Its got everything I need! Hot babes and sweets galore!"

Her hair crackles like a coyote's yip and polished nails dig into his denim covered hips. "By the time I have taken my fill of pleasure, you shall lie panting at my feet. Then I shall rend this quaint hidey-hole and unleash you upon the world once more." She growls, nipping at his ear.

"I'm hearing lots of talk, but no action." His hand fists in her hair. He forces her head backwards, leaving her neck exposed and vulnerable.

She laughs in his face. "You practically sent me a signed invitation, trickster falso. If you _desire_ my help, then you must give me a more _satisfying_ hunt."

He tossed the glass aside and pounces, throwing his weight forward and pinning her on her back. His mouth blazes up and down her throat until she moans and squirms. Goosebumps trail in the wake of his hands. He nips her collarbones and eases his knee between her thighs, barely brushing against her core. She shivers and arches, scratching at his back. She wraps around him, forcing his leg firmly against her groin. Legs wrapped around him, ankles crossed.

SNAP!

Snarling with frustration, she claws at his disappearing form. Sharpened fingernails sweep through empty air.

A fake mustache floats in his wake, landing on the warm silk.


	2. Now and Later

She lunged forward, snarling at him. Victory on her lips and plans of passion after her prize was truly won. Her snarl morphed into a yelp as she was yanked back, into an unyielding surface. Her esteem for the little angel that played at tricks grew. His trap had as many layers and misdirects as a giant's onion.

…

She had neatly avoided his double, keeping the illusion occupied with one of her own design. Two plucked hairs entwined with her magic and a whispered word turned into two very distracting copies that were currently, as her prey called it, 'getting hot and heavy.' One of her doubles was nearly bent over backwards as he plundered her lips. The phantom sensations that traveled down her mind link were a delightful appetizer to the evening's main course. It had been far too long since she had played with such a skilled player.

One hand squeezed her first copy's rear while the other wound around its back, firmly holding it close. As he straightened back up, he tugged her second copy close, pulling hair and scraping his hand down an eager back. She stumbled as his mouth closed around a nipple, teasing it through the shirt. She shook off the distraction and prodded her copies into bolder moves. Hopefully, her copies' intimate caresses would distract him more than her. Somehow she doubted it though, the hunt had aroused her. He was a worthy challenge; he had long eluded her and escaped from her clutches three times now.

His scent had gotten stronger; a prickle of awareness warned her as the landscape shifted beneath her. The green of the ivy swathed oaks morphed into rust-colored plateaus with spacious skies. She leapt up as the ground vanished into thin air beneath her feet. A heavy tug of magic swirled her form into that of a desert finch. Small and covert, but lacking the strong sense of smell she loved for hunting. Her magic was not endless and his hidey-hole denied her access to the natural sources she drew from. He had too much of an advantage over the terrain, she had to force him to close quarters soon or risk losing the match. Perching carefully between the sharp needles of a Joshua tree, she searched. Instinct shouted that he was close. The cactus shifted, its spiked arms closing around her. Turning from a vantage point into a cage of needles that pressed against her feathers and wound around her legs.

A grin, more magic and then a swarm of flies darted through his cage. They raced off in all directions, laughing at the narrow escape.

"You'll have to do better than that." She taunted.

"Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet!"

Pain lanced through as her doubles dissipated, thrown against cacti.

"Enough!" She roared, the flies regrouped and she shifted back. She yanked with her magic and wrestled control of the land from him. The desert sands beneath his feet turned into quick sand. Once his feet were caught, she turned the sands into adhesive fly paper. Before he could blink, she pounced, knocking him back. He fell, landing hard on his back. Reflexively, he tried to push off with his hands for a counterattack, but the glue held fast. She jumped back, staying clear of the glue, and circled.

Over-confident in his capture, she lunged forward with a snarl eager for her reward. Then, his trap had sprung. He grinned at her yelps, easily rising from the glue. "Nice try, Tweety Bird."

He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it and then sprayed something from a small white bottle into his mouth. "So, how many shape shifters does it take to change a light bulb?"

She laughed, relaxing against her bindings. "How many duplicates do you need to _entertain _a little ole house guest?" She peered up at him through her lashes. He bowed before her, low and deep, then struck a manly pose.

"As many as it takes." He, or was it the copy, whispered in her ear. A cold finger traced the curve of her jaw and the length of her neck. She shivered and hissed annoyed at her own weakness. Shifting away from his caress, she tested the bounds for vulnerabilities. She had just enough magic left for her last trick.

_Wait for it…._

"I just don't get guests like I used to! Maybe I should clean up a little." The Trickster behind her snapped his fingers and the desert melted back into the cheesy bedroom.

Only this time, she was strapped to the bed.

_Wait for it…_

He straddled her, warm knees on either side of her hips. His weight was shifted backwards, pressing her legs into the soft mattress.

_Now!_

He lurched forward as she flickered transparent. Her arms floated through the odd carved marble bindings. She rolled to the left, regained corporealness and flipped his body over. With a little bit of dimensional bending, she slid his hands into his own bindings before you could think 'Olly Olly Oxen Free'.

He smirked and snapped his fingers.

Nothing happened.


	3. Cherry on Top

Wow! I can't believe it, I got my first reviews! And they're so positive too! Thank you guys so much!

Enjoy :)

* * *

She pouts playfully, "Don't you just hate it when a brilliant trick backfires in your face?"

Grinning, he stretches out, relaxing beneath her. "Undivided attention from a gorgeous babe-I'm still counting this as a win."

Her fists curl into tight rosebuds, infuriated by his nonchalance. "So what are you offering, if I give you a hitch back to the real world?" She emphasizes the 'if' with a nudge of her hips.

"Undying gratitude? A sure thing?" Hungry eyes lazily survey her body as he shrugs.

She laughs; the rumbling motion soothing against his stomach. "Those are hardly uncommon."

"You get one favor, no strings attached,_ Pinocchio_." Her nose crinkles at the nickname. It delights him knowing how easily he can get under her skin.

"Not worth the effort, _Candy Man_." He howls with laughter at her retort. She smacks him in the chest and ruffles up like a startled pooch. "I'm practically raising you back from the dead." She growls, "You're lucky I don't claim your life."

"Two favors and lots of wild sex." Waggling eyebrows and a tongue flick.

"A binding." A sloppy kiss lands on his mouth, capturing the mischievous tongue. "Anything fatal happens to me," her slender hands fist in his shirt collar, yanking it away from smooth skin. "And you get sucked right back in here." That was definitely going to leave a hickey. "Two favors," Now, there's a matching hickey on the other side of his neck. "And as long as you don't have any serious issues with any of my little requests then you fulfill them."

"Hmm… Let me think for a moment." Leg muscles tense, feet brace beneath her, and then he yanks against the bindings, throwing his entire upper body forwards. The headboard splinters into five fragments. "Uh, no." The inscribed cuffs are still wrapped around his wrists, but his arms are freed. "No binding." His fingers scrape up her hips and tug at her waistline. "Ten favors." Warm breath teases the junction of her neck and the creases of her ear. She shivers, flinching away, then pushes him down with one hand.

Fingers wrap around the restraining hand, guiding it to his mouth. Noisily, he sucks on her fingers and curls his tongue against each fingertip. "Ten favors could last you a lifetime."

"Whose lifetime? Your survival instincts are… lacking. We can argue favors later." She grinds into his warmth. "I demand a binding. You won't wiggle out of your debts this time, Trickster."

His nails leave scratches on her back. She moans, train of thought crashed and burning. Curling closer, almost pressing a breast into his mouth.

"I'm not the one wiggling here."

She rips her shirt off, absentmindedly throwing it somewhere in the room. Clothing was expendable. It only cost a snap of the fingers.

"Binding or I leave." Her hand rubs against a stiffening part of his anatomy.

"Fine." He knocks her hand away, exasperated at her dogged determination. "But," He throws his hands up in warning, "a conditional one."

"I'll think about it." She grins, peeking at him between dark lashes. "How about a favor for each organism before you make it out of those enspelled cuffs?"

"Deal." He shakes her hand mockingly. "You're on, _Sweetums._"

"Shut up."

* * *

Flesh slaps against flesh as she rides him, at her own maddeningly pace with whimpers and moans and pants and oh yeah! Every time, he throws her off her rhythm she draws back, teasing and taunting before going double-time. Pleasurable torture for two. Another wave looms and she leans forward, cresting it as the bed screeches back and forth across the floor with each thrust. Slams her full weight down, and freezes clenched in deadlock around him—tensed and straining-dangling on the precipice.

She hardly notices when Gabe (The silly nickname he insisted on and then delighted in wringing from her kiss-swollen lips with much too-talented fingers.) flips her underneath him and continues, as energetically as he is noisy. Floating, discombobulated and slightly dizzy, she doesn't realize at first.

Then he smirks down at her.

And snaps his fingers.

"First rule of negotiations, love. Always have the upper hand."

It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for her to connect the dots. Blushing and twisting away, stupidly hurt that he doesn't seem nearly as affected as she is, she questions: "I don't get a single favor?" Uneven breaths echo loudly in her ears as her voice breaks slightly.

"Aww… did someone get a little cocky?"

Teeth chew on her lip for a breathless moment. Peeking at his equipment with a devilish smile, she replies "Not just a little."

He chuckles, reaching out. She dodges and rolls away, masking the hurt that her best efforts didn't even faze him. "Worried you'll owe more favors than you can repay?"

They break the bed.

Gabriel doesn't even bother to fix it later.

* * *

She's been gone for HOURS. It's so boring in here! There's only so many times you can play with your own constructs and create your own mini-worlds before it all gets monotonous. And there's nothing on T.V. but reruns… Figures.

Random ingredients for the binding, and hopefully whatever crazy spell/loophole she's planning on exploiting to get him out of this joint, keep popping up in erratic intervals and in the most inconvenient locations. If one more paint bucket or baby femur whacks him in the head, he's going to nail her feet down to floorboards.

He hopes he gets to keep his current form. He can't help being attached to it. It had finally gotten sooo comfortable, like a well-worn hat, and no complaints from the ladies!

Finally, she pops back in with a glass jar of ominous swirling black smoke. "Don't tell me you stock your pantry with demons?"

"Nope!" She beams, still glowing. It reminds him of heavy panting above him and hands full of squirming female flesh. "Freshly caught."

"So how exactly are you planning on bustin' me out of this joint?"

"You would have me prematurely reveal my secrets?" She admonishes, starting to paint symbols and circles on the wood floor. "Binding first."

"Wha-a-at? Don't trust me?" He musters up the most innocent smile possible and couples it with a gleaming halo.

She snorts and huffs like a Great Dane. "Exactly. You mentioned a conditional binding…?" She trails off, staring at him.

"I did." He rocks backs on his heels, intentionally obtuse.

"And the condition being…?" She gestures impatiently with the paint brush, speckling her shirt.

"All I want is an itsy-bitsy little tracking bug. I'll plant it after you spring me. If your death is going to trap me in limbo, then I have to be able to find you anywhere, anytime." Golden-brown eyes bore into her, sharpened by the rare seriousness.

"Oh." Breath gusts out of her. "You… you're worried about me?" That little nagging hurt she shoved aside earlier fades away. He doesn't answer. No denial or confirmation, just stares back determined.

Dazed, she resumes painting. When the last symbol is properly placed, she sneaks a glance his way. He's sitting now, but his eyes are as alert and serious as before.

"A lot of folks are going to be out for my blood, including my family." He offers as explanation, breaking off eye contact.

A small nod and a whisper: "Okay."

* * *

Ground bones, marigolds, demon gas, and more confusingly random ingredients than Gabriel can keep track of, wind up in the mixing bowl. She whistles like a 60's housewife mixing up a batch of demonic cookies with midget-sized broom handle. He sneaks behind her and pretends to steal some of the batter. A satisfying smack lands across his rear as she giggles and darts away.

Finally finished stirring, she snaps the handle across her leg. It breaks into uneven ends, both sharp and splintered. One is vaguely stake-shaped. The other end resembles Pac-Man. Instead of throwing cookies into the oven to bake, she dips both ends into the batter.

"Stand in the center, please." She points directly before her, at the empty spot surrounded by ominous magical scribbles. Some of it, he recognizes. He picks out 'angel' and 'flesh.' Others are confusing; odd words and phrases, some of which don't seem to belong. Such as, storm, floor, and was that 'penguin'? Was she going to stuff him in a penguin suit? Mental images of tuxedos and penguins frolic in his sub-consciousness.

"Yes, dear." He drawls dryly, but quickly darts into position, suddenly hungry for dynamic reality.

She pauses, shooting him an intriguing glance. Her index finger crooks. He leans forward, balancing on his toes. Leans against him, she pecks his right cheek and wraps her arms around him. He can almost feel the weight of the kiss on his skin as the broken broom handle slides between his shoulder blades.

"Sorry…" She whispers, "Trade secrets and whatnot."

His unconscious form crumbles to the ground amidst a dizzying maze of painted runes and sigils.


End file.
